


weak

by orphan_account



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Gen, Self-Harm, boy am i projecting, described for like. 2 paragraphs sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:07:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24292570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: does it really count as a "bad day" if you've only been awake for half an hour
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	weak

**Author's Note:**

> it's MY emotional support fic and i get to make these two friends

It was already bad as soon as he woke up. Tired. He felt tired. It consumed him, almost, stuck in bed with his thoughts barely ringing quietly in his head. Felt like a fog was choking them up. 

Around 2pm. Slept later than intended. Oh well. 

He laid there. It felt like hours. It was only a couple of minutes. He got up. Legs felt like they were going to collapse under him. Shades barely made it to his face. He decided to leave his jacket off for a little while. Just gonna get in the way.

He made it to the bathroom. Looked in the mirror. Even with his eyes covered, he looked awful. He lifted the shades up just to see them. He still looked asleep, a little bit like he'd been crying. Even if he wasn't, they've begun to look like that almost all the time. 

His shirt was stained. He can't remember the last time he's taken the effort to change his clothes. 

He made the mistake of looking down. Newer scabs, none healed at all just yet. He hated to cut his arms. But his thighs were running out of space. Skin tight shorts helps to cover a lot. His jacket helps, too, seeing as he never takes it off. His hands were moving without his brain telling him to. Stray razors in the drawer. He grabs one without looking. It nicks his finger. 

He hardly feels it on his arm. He just watches. He tries to make sure it doesn't overlap with the others. Don't want an infection. Can't battle then. Everyone else will find out. Blood beads up. Purple. It looks so dull to him now. He feels bad for Skull, sometimes. It's his color. Avi was just tainting the color with his pathetic being. 

He sniffles, rinsing his arm off in the sink. Razor gets thrown away haphazardly. He'll always have new ones. He runs his arm under the cold water until new blood stops coming up. Looks up at the mirror one more time. Leaves the bathroom for his own room again. 

His jacket gets put on. Like it never even happened.

He hears his phone chime. Text from Paisley. 

We were supposed to battle together today. Where are you? You're never late. Where are you? 

Where are you?

Fuck. He completely forgot. 

His hands shook as he tried to reply. Never got more than a few words out before deleting it all again. He hated talking. Hated trying to interact when it was like this. He talked the most. Saying things about Skull so people understood or helping him out giving him directions or scolding him for getting lost because he was worried no matter how many times it happens. He just wanted to shut up, for once. 

He put his phone down. His body was shaking. He's crying? He is. Awesome.

His breathing choked up, making him squeak. It felt like he was suffocating. His cheeks were soaked. Tears slipped down his chin and rolled down the fabric of his jacket until it was stained. He hunched over himself, face in his hands. Sobs wracked his whole body. 

Why? Why? Why? You're the cool guy. Do you know how weak you'd be? If anyone saw this? 

His arms stung. Everything hurt. For the first time all afternoon he was feeling something. But the feelings were amplified. Overly sensitive. He could feel his cuts throb and each tear falling and how his body shook and how much his lungs burned. He couldn't calm down.

He cried. Cried and cried and cried until there was nothing left and he was dry heaving in his lap. Steadied his breathing a little. Sat back up. He took his phone, a short reply to Pais.

Not going. Sorry. 

He let his phone blow up knowing it's her again.

What? You never blow us off. Are you okay? Aviators? I'm coming over. 

His heart jumped at this. Please don't come over no no no. He rushed a reply. 

Don't worry about it. I just, slept a little late. Had something happen. 

Please don't come over. Please. Please. Please. She left him on read. His body trembled. She'd know he's home. Where else would he be? He panicked for a good while. Couldn't seem to get a plan straight. He heard a knock on his front door.

Aviators? Please come out. Avi? 

He stayed silent. He tried to hold his breath as if she could hear it. She kept knocking. Kept calling his name. Until it went silent. She texted him again.

Please come out. I'm scared. 

Pais doesn't get scared. He felt guilty. Just fucking get up, already! His head was screaming at him. He couldn't. He was terrified. Couldn't gather his composure. He'd break down, and she'd see it, and she'd see how weak he is, how could he even hold them all together the way he does if he himself is falling apart at the seams? He replied to her. She had to have known at this point. He was being uncharacteristic. 

I really don't want to talk.

She spoke again, out loud on his doorstep.

Something's wrong. Please talk to me. Are you mad at us? 

Screw it. Pathetic. He stood up, forcing his face into his smirk. Made it to the front door. Opened it. Tried to wave to her casually. She damn near barreled past him into his home. Her face was scary. He's seen her look mad plenty of times. But it was different now. It was directed at him. And it was a concerned anger. His smirk faltered and she grabbed the front of his jacket.

Did you cry? Your face is stained as hell.

Fuck. 

He felt it bubble in his chest again. Started to breathe faster. It was all falling apart like he expected. Pais' face shifted. She looked sad. So, so sad.

Please tell me what's wrong. 

He broke down. Fell to the floor. She followed him, kneeling down. Put his head in her lap. She let him cry. He had already cried so much today. He felt exhausted. He felt bad for soaking Pais' lap. He stopped crying again, easier than last time.

It just hurts. I hate this. It's weak.

She pet his head. Her chest hurt, now, too. Why doesn't he say this stuff? Why doesn't he tell them? 

You've been holding so much in, haven't you? How long? Since your old team? That's so long, Avi. Years. You have to let us help you. 

You know we'd all still love you.


End file.
